


Dressed to the Nines

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Boys in dresses, Boys with silly girlish middle names, Crossdressing, Dom!Dave, First Time, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Freeform, boys in panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave is a party boy, and John is a good student. They share an apartment, and John is tired of hearing his one night stands come over. So he formulates a plan to get him for his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dressed to the Nines

**Author's Note:**

> In which Erika spends way too much time describing things and writes really short porn after a hell of a lot of buildup. (I'mSoSorry...)
> 
> Edit: I fixed my description of the term 'demisexual'. Re-reading it after receiving a comment, I really did mess up the way I worded it.

                Your name is Jonathan Christine Egbert, or simply John for short. You’re nineteen, tall and lanky, and the second palest person you’ve ever met. Your hair is a shock of messy black, thick and impossible to tame with a brush or comb. You’re working through college, playing nights at a sophisticated club to help assuage the debts you’re racking up.

                You may or may not be a homosexual, and if forced to put a label on your sexuality you would probably use the term ‘demisexual’. Rose had mentioned it a few times. From what you gathered, it was something along the lines of only being attracted to a few select members of the same gender, wherein the attraction only came after developing a strong emotional connection with the other person. This explanation made sense to you, and so if asked, this was the answer you gave.

                For now, though, you choose not to use labels and do what comes naturally. Which is a whole lot of nothing, usually. And you’re perfectly okay with that! There’s nothing wrong with going home each night and just doing your schoolwork. Getting your degree, working hard, finishing school so you can move on and be an adult!

                ...Oh who are you kidding? You’d love to go home and kiss another person, be able to fall asleep in their arms or wake up to them kissing you. But there’s one simple problem. The person you fantasize doing this with is kind of your roommate, and kind of your best friend of nine years, and also the coolest coolkid to ever cool.

                David Elisabeth Strider was his name, and you had first bonded over your similar hate of the girlish middle names you were both given. He was taller than you, a little more built, and the one person you’d ever met that had a lighter complexion than you did. His hair fell over his eyes in _that_ way, that perfect way that made all the girls want and the few gay men around fall over themselves to impress him.

                He drove you fucking crazy, in other words.

                Late at night, he’ll come home from some party. Possibly high or drunk, usually with some girl who you hear screaming his name from the other side of the flat you share with him. It makes you want to go out and throw her out of your apartment, take him for yourself, give yourself over to him. ...But you don’t. Instead you curl up in bed, muffling your soft pants and moans of his name with a pillow as you stroke to your completion.

                So you formulated a plan of sorts. You talked to Rose (albeit reluctantly) and she helped you figure out what your size was. You argued for hours with yourself about which one to buy, how exactly to phrase how you wanted it shipped, and how much money you were going to invest in this. You spent hours agonizing over different websites, finally settling on one and placing your order. Then came your second dilemma.

                How far were you willing to go with this? You’d already bought the dress, and had it shipped to Kanaya so she could alter it to fit your measurements better. You put it on rush order, so you should be able to pick up the altered dress in a day or so. But as for the rest... With a heavy sigh, you called Rose again, asking advice on shoes and... God... Lingerie.

                Four days later, and here you were. Friday night, Dave was out at a party again, and you were standing in your bedroom staring at the reflection in the mirror that was no longer really you. The dress hugged your torso, sky blue fabric clinging to you until your waist where it sloped, ending barely above your knees. It appeared strapless before one noticed the white mesh overlay, falling over the dress oh-so-perfectly and creating a short-sleeved button-up shirt collar. The little sleeves buttoned nicely around your arms, the collar a little looser than you were used to. The thin, silky ribbon around the waist of the dress topped off the article itself, adding definition to the thin, curvy figure the fitted dress gave your slim form.

                You settled the thin black choker just above the collar, taking care to keep it loose enough that you could breath, but tight enough that it didn’t move. A pair of simple black Mary Jane’s completed your outer ensemble, complete with little white flat socks that just barely peeked out from the hems of the shoes. Underneath, however...

The pastel blue-and-white striped panties hugged you comfortably, the expensive material feeling like heaven on your sensitive skin. Short lace trim teased your hips and the little juncture where hip met thigh, a little blue bow ornamenting the front of the underwear. Rose had laughed at you for almost an hour when you tried to explain what you wanted, pulling up websites that you had to clear your browsing data of in case Dave checked up on it at some point.

Eventually, however, she’d shown you a page that gave you exactly what you wanted. And now... You were in the middle of psyching yourself out of your plan and pretending that this whole ordeal had never happened. You took one last look in the mirror, admiring how the fabric flowed over your slender legs when you moved in the short-heeled shoes. A click from the living room froze you in place.

_No. He’s not home. You’re dreaming._ You think, your heart racing a thousand beats per minute. The soft click is followed by the rustle of a jacket fluttering to the floor. There’s the telltale jingle of keys being placed on the hooks beside the door. _He put his keys up. There’s no one with him?_ After a second your mind clicks the pieces together, the sudden realization that he is alone and you are in a dress hitting you full-force.

The sound of his voice, and footsteps heading toward your room snap you harshly out of your reverie. “John? John, are you in here? Are you even home?” he calls, sounding completely in control of his inhibitions for once. Are you sure it’s a Friday, and he’s not just coming home from class on a Tuesday night? A glance at your phone tells you it is, indeed, a Friday night. Dave’s home. Sober. On a Friday. What _happened_? You wonder, lost in thought again when the door to your bedroom opens and reveals the object of your affections.

There’s a look on his face that freezes you in your tracks, your words catching your breath and stealing it away from you. He’s frozen in the doorway, his breathing either too shallow to notice or stopped completely like yours. Moments later, your mouth catches up with the words screaming in your head and you stutter out, “D-Dave! You weren’t supposed to be home! I’m.. Fuck- I don’t know!” a beat of silence, and he’s taken a step forward.

“John... What are you wearing..?” that voice is sexy and soft and dangerously low, breathed just above a whisper so you could hear it across half the span of your bedroom. A voice like that promised things. It promised skating touches and heated glances and _lust_ so powerful it could drive a man insane with the mere thought. Fighting the urge to take an instinctive step back, you lightly run your hands down the length of the dress, drawing his attention easily with the way your hands glide down silky fabric that hides so much more.

“New outfit... Do you like it? I bought it especially for you...” you say, voice soft and demure against his harsh, low growl. His eyes rake down your body, the fitted bodice of the dress adding artificial curves to your already slim figure. A hand snaked up to your glasses, adjusting the black frames to rest better on the slope of your nose. You flashed him a gentle smile, glad you’d had the foresight to pin your unruly hair out of your face. Shade-hidden eyes never stray from your body, taking in each line and curve created or enhanced by the dress. You know he doesn’t look away, can feel his eyes raking down you.

“Got yourself all dressed-up and pretty for me, huh John? Did you want to tease me, did you do this just to see what would happen..?” The tonality of his voice speaks volumes about just how much you’ve affected him, just by wearing something new. You think that you like that.

“I did... Got all dressed-up, made myself pretty. I didn’t do it to tease you, though...” Pale pink colors your cheeks as your original plan comes to mind, the step Dave takes toward you adding another layer to the blood flooding your pale skin. The look on his face is downright predatory as he slides his gaze over you, his posture and walk oddly calm in contrast to the hellstorm of emotions warring on his usually-stoic face.

“Then why did you do this?” Dave’s voice has done a complete turnaround; the dark, promise-filled tones from before now the airy tones of someone playing with another. The cat who’s caught the mouse, his voice drones through legions of calm and in control. You want it to break again.

Two steps separate you from the gorgeous blond in front of you so you cross them quickly and his hands settle on your hips, digging in a little possessively. You blink up at him once, twice, three times and he can’t help but stare. Clip-short nails drag up the others arms slowly, the climbing pace torturous by the time he finally reaches his destination. Nimble fingers pluck the sunglasses you’d given him so long ago away, walking away and setting them oh-so-gently on the nightstand. You could feel his eyes watching you walk, watching how the skirt swished around you, the way the thin fabric moved with your teasing gait.

The soft rush of air around you indicates that he’s moved to stand behind you and your suspicions are proven true when you turn around and finally meet his vibrant crimson gaze. His arms slide around your waist, pulling you in and pressing him against you too hard and not hard enough at the same time. This closeness was new, and you wanted more, you wanted all things and everything he’d be willing to give you.

“Dav-“ your words are cut off by his lips descending on yours, the gentle kiss and softness of his lips driving you insane slowly. Your arms snake around his neck and you lift up onto your tip-toes to kiss him more soundly. His hands around your waist skim over the fabric of the dress, teasing at the zipper pull and the bow of the ribbon. Small, involuntary shivers follow his hands wherever they go, your all-too-sensitive skin prickling under the heat of his articulate touches.

The kiss is languid and sweet at first, morphing into something hungry and desperate and needy. He’s all lips and teeth and tongue and the heat of his body is burning you with how much you’re finding you really have wanted this. You gasp into the kiss softly as the button holding the collar at the back is undone, Dave’s kisses trailing down the pale column that is your throat. His teeth are tucked safely away and that _bothers_ you a lot more than you care to admit, so you tangle a hand in his hair and straight-out pull.

Your gamble proves worth it when he returns his teeth into the equation, drawing sounds out of you that you previously hadn’t known you could make. His kisses are sweet, slow torture as they build up heat inside of you, burning from the inside out. Each little flick of his tongue or nip of his teeth is carefully calculated to drive you insane, you’re pretty damned sure of that by this point. The hand still in his hair tugs and soothes in simple patterns and his mouth grows sloppier on you with each gentle pull of your hands.

Minutes pass and you’re frozen in place, tantalized by his teeth and his teasing sucks and the touches that promise _so much more_ if he would just hurry up and take that damned dress off of you already. After another minute of delicious torture you decide to take the initiative yourself, pulling at his shirt by the collar. He seems to snap out a reverie, pulling away from your soon to be bruise-mottled neck and sliding his shirt off in a fluid motion. You take a moment to gape, running a hand reverently over his side.

His skin is smooth and soft, pulled tight against the framework of muscle and bone underneath the surface. It prickles under your touch and you shiver, glancing at the noticeable lump in those damn skinny jeans he insists on wearing all the time. You smirk for a second before the world changes views as you’re pushed onto your back. A soft thump reaches your ears as you scramble to situate yourself on the bed. Dave is following your movements with his eyes like a cat stalking prey, and damn if that doesn’t turn you on a lot more than it should.

Dave’s voice is low and soft when he speaks to you. “Tell me. Tell me right now if you don’t want me as much as I want you. I want you so much...” as he speaks his last words, he skims a hand over your own and your world drops down to only the two of you, this room contains your entire life and all you could ever want from it.

“I want you, Dave. I want you and I want you to love me and I want anything and everything you are willing to give me and I just want you so much. Please, Dave, please...”

Within seconds of your words—your pleas—trailing off, he’s on top of you. His larger frame seemed to dwarf yours even more now that he was hovering over you, and the hungry gaze he raked down your body sent shivers up and down your spine that you just _know_ he saw. A confident smirk slid onto his face at your shuddering visage, lips descending yet again to attack yours with harsh yet loving kisses. Your lips moved together in near-perfect sync, the kiss shifting to an open-mouthed mess quickly as Dave’s hands pushed the mesh of the dress away from your neck.

The kiss breaks as his hand snakes under your back, the zipper of your dress swiftly unzipping under his expert touch. Your back arches high as his fingertips ghost over your spine, trailing back up and pushing the dress down over your shoulders. His lips and tongue trace patterns down your chest as it is bared, the dress barely covering your hips anymore as he pushes it down gently.

A gasp slips from you as he flicks the tip of his tongue over your nipple, the pink flesh pricked and hard against the cold temperature of the room. You can feel the smirk on his face as he presses his lips over your sensitive skin, teeth grazing the nub locked into his mouth. One of his hands reaches up to tweak at the other and you can’t help the arch in your back, soft sounds of want and need pulling from your chest. Dave was quickly dragging you to the edge of insanity, and you were practically running after him in your desperation.

If asked, you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone when exactly he unfastened his jeans and pushed them down his thighs. However, you would be able to document where exactly his lips pressed down your chest, recounting each mark and kiss and touch of him against your sensitive, delicate self. Dave’s hands paused over the skirt of your dress, looking up at you with so much lust in his eyes that you nodded before understanding his unspoken question. Nails dug into the expensive fabric and a shallow breath was taken before it was pulled away, revealing the panties you’d donned as well. You swear you could see his Adam’s apple bob with how hard he swallowed.

“Fuck- John.” The words that slipped from his mouth were strung tight and clipped with lust, his crimson eyes locked on the feminine underwear covering your straining length. Your hips twitch up and he’s snapped to attention, throwing the dress away along with his own jeans and boxers. One of your own hands tentatively reaches down to palm yourself, already hard and needy under the other’s rough touches and kisses.

Dave’s low growl doesn’t deter you from giving yourself a little bit of attention, but his hands on your wrists definitely do. In seconds, your hands are pinned by your shoulders and he’s attacking your chest with kisses and bites, making you arch up into him and cry out in desperation.

One languid roll of his hips makes you whimper softly and he drags his teeth down your neck. Slivers of pain and arousal shoot through you, making your hands dig further into the mattress. At this point, you’re desperate for him to touch you. You’ve kept your mouth shut about your feelings, locked them away for so long that now that they’re out in the open you’re dying without his hands on you. His touch is like fire; delicious, painful flame that burns you alive. You never want it to stop, never want him to leave.

“D-Dave, please... Please, don’t tease me-“ you plead, pulling at the sheets surrounding you. His blond hair tickles your skin as he moves down your body, placing kisses and sucks over your sensitive flesh. Inwardly, you both curse and bless yourself over being so susceptible to touch because the breath ghosting over your skin is making you want to scream and buck up into his hand.

He takes mercy on you for a moment, hands pressing your hips into the mattress as he leans down and mouths over your panties. You try to press your hips up against him, but his hands keep you pinned down. Soft whines escape you, your determination to keep quiet faltering under his teasing kisses along your straining length. Those articulate fingers hold so much more strength than they seem to, and you know you’ll have bruises on your hips in the morning. That thought drives you just a little crazy, and the light suction Dave applies to you doesn’t help you keep your sanity. You openly moan his name, body shuddering.

Apparently, that was the sound Dave had been waiting for because he pulled away, tugging your panties down as well and fumbling in his pocket for something. _Lube. He’s looking for lube._ Your addled mind supplies, the word somehow fighting through the haze of lust the rest of your thoughts seemed trapped by.

The world has shrunken around you, dragged down to just the room around you and Dave. Dave was the center of your world, with his teasing touches and his smile. The way his hair stood out against your dark blue walls, and the way each press of his fingers or lips told you how and when to move. He played you perfectly, drawing sounds that you’d never dreamed of making from your vocal cords. If anyone brought it up later, you’d lie and say you’d never made such a sound. Here you were, finally with the guy you’ve wanted for months—hell, years—and you were crying out desperately within minutes of his hands touching you.

A sharp squeak slipped out of your mouth at the fingertip pressing against your entrance. It just surprised you, okay?! You didn’t expect it. You slapped a hand over your mouth to prevent further embarrassing noises from slipping out. His finger slipped into you and you whimpered, the sensation foreign and strange but not necessarily uncomfortable _. It was supposed to get better_ , you told yourself. _This is for Dave, you love him so much and he wants you too..._

Oh.

_Oh._

**_OH._ **

Whatever what was, you wanted it to happen again. Dave had shifted his fingers and white-hot pleasure shot through every nerve in your body, making you arch off the bed and bite down on your hand hard enough to leave marks. Obviously, he knew what it was and what it did to you because he gently massaged that part of you—prostate, John. It’s called your prostate—enough that you didn’t even notice the second finger pressed into you and the teasing of the third. Gentle pushes and pulls and the occasional scissor stretched you out patiently, and when his third finger was actually added you barely noticed the addition.

However, when Dave pulled his fingers out and slicked himself up you did notice, and whine at the strange feeling of being empty. He shushed you gently and you reluctantly quieted yourself, nerves at what you were about to do finally catching up to you. Fear caught in your throat and you shuddered when you felt Dave line up at your entrance. A hand soothed over your own and pulled it from your mouth, and when you looked up you met bright crimson eyes filled with love and what looked to be a bit of worry.

“D-Dave, please... I’m okay. Just. I love you, okay?” You manage to stutter out, hands pinned to the mattress again. Without that barrier you let the words spill out of your mouth and waited for him to react. In all the times he’d brought someone home, he’d never once called their name or told them he loved them. You wanted to be the first person he said that to, the last person he said that to. Put simply, you wanted to be his.

His mouth lowered to yours, ensnaring you in a searing kiss once again as he held himself still above you. When the kiss broke he only pulled away enough to speak, lips brushing yours as they formed his words. “I love you too, John. I love you so much, wanted this so long. Wanted you...” he murmured, the words bringing a deep red flush to your features. You tilted your head up just the slightest bit, bringing your lips together again and rocking your hips back oh-so-softly to let him know that it really _was_ okay, that you wanted this just as much as he did.

Preparation aside, you still cried out in surprise when he did push into you. He was infinitely patient, though, and went slowly until he was finally fully inside of you. As your hips met you let out a sigh of relief. Yes, it hurt. Yes, it burned. Yes, you had a few tears in your eyes. But Dave was gentle as he kissed away the tears, hands rubbing your hips and tracing patterns on your skin to distract you. You relaxed surprisingly fast under his loving touches and urged him to move, rolling your hips in time with his thrusts.

Wordless pleas fall from your lips when he starts to move, the sensation strange and still not quite pleasurable. He angles his thrusts a little and it occurs to you why people do this. That now-familiar white pleasure sings through your veins as he brushes up against your prostate and you arch your back, calling his name softly. With each thrust into you he pulls back further and presses back in faster. The constant stimulation is shoving you closer to the edge but you want to stay, keep this new closeness that you have.

In no time he’s slamming into you relentlessly and attacking your neck and chest with bites and sucks. Your wrists are still pinned to the bed as he marks you and claims you, speaking his intents as well. Each kiss is accompanied with a word, a call of ‘mine’. He’s claimed you for his, and you’re sent to heaven and hell and back again as your body molds to his. You’re crying out his name with each thrust, breathless and desperate and needy under each of his touches. Moans tumble from your lips, unable to stop the deluge of sounds with your hands.

“D-Dave, please please I’m so close! Let me come, please!” you beg, his thrusts slamming into your prostate and driving your vision pure white. He still hasn’t touched you and you’re so, so close to that edge, if only he would tell you you could. Plea after plea fell from your lips as he thrust into you, rhythm growing erratic quickly.

“John- Fuck, come for me, now!” He growled, voice low and strung tight with arousal. Your climax hit you hard, back arched high off the bed as you positively screamed his name. Your vision blacked out for a moment before rushing back to you, everything hazy even through your glasses as your chest was painted with white lines. The only thing to cut through your post-orgasmic haze was Dave’s cry, your name on his lips as he buried deep in you and came. Shivers wracked your body when he pulled out, collapsing next to you only for a moment before he shoved off of the mattress, grabbing something off of the bedside table that you recognized a moment later to be a tissue. Said tissue swiped over your chest, cleaning you off before Dave fell next to you again, pressing gentle kisses over the soon-to-be dark bruises on your neck.

“Dave...” you whisper, voice hoarse from screaming. You turn to him with a blissful smile on your face, finding a nearly identical one on his. “...So you liked the dress?” you chuckle, leaning your forehead against his.

He laughs softly at the question, nodding. “Yes. I loved the dress. But not nearly as much as I love you, John.”

“I love you, Dave. So much.” You sigh, cuddling close into his chest. “And now everyone will know I’m yours.” A hand indicates the forming marks on your neck, kissing the blush that comes up on his chest.

“C-Can I call you my boyfriend now?” he stutters, smile impossibly widening when you nod and kiss his nose chastely.

“It would be silly of me to say no. I’m not a one-night stand.” A sharp nod in agreement and a tightening of his arms around you tells you that he knows that as well as you do. One more quick kiss and your eyes are closing, sleepy from all your incessant worrying and your orgasm from a few minutes ago. “Now shut up and sleep with me.”

“Did you really just quote a song at me to tell me to go to bed?”

“...Yes. Now sleep.”

“I love you, John.” “I love you too, Dave.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I named them Johnathan Christine and David Elisabeth. I have headcanons. I'm really not sorry.
> 
> Also tumblr mirror: http://dramatical-strider.tumblr.com/post/57500668636/dressed-to-the-nines


End file.
